The Awesome House of Sweets
by Matrix the Kitty
Summary: "Surely if this man can hear his whispered words, he can also hear the pounding of his heart." Matthew finds love in an unlikely place. Embarrassment ensues. 1pCanada x 2pCanada GiftFic


**Shhhhhh you can't kill me yet…**

**Much much apologies for being a lazy potato for several months… **

**But hey! What's this!? A one-shot?**

**:D**

**Happy Birthday gift fic to my good friend Ireland, send her your virtual thanks for inspiring me to turn on the laptop and actually get something done! **

**This is my first attempt at Canada x 2P Canada EVER, as well as something that is not intended to kill off a character or two. Of course it's going to be a little different from my usual works but DON'T LET THAT DETER YOU. READ ON.**

**Warnings: -**_High over usage of the words _**maple, stranger, Matthew, **_and _**sweets.**

_-Somewhat offensive stereotyped white girls- if they offend you, well, sorry. _

_-Completely illogical October weather._

_-love that is rather fast-paced. _

_-much improper grammar and run-on sentences._

_-OOC Canada's, no doubt. Feel free to correct me on their behavior if you so wish._

* * *

><p>Most people don't appreciate the beauty of maple. It was astounding, really. Maple was like the sweet ambrosia of the Gods, euphoric nectar sent down to Earth in the form of sugary, sticky tree sap. It flavored syrup, bread, pastries, all sorts of edible goodies that made the human race salivate and desire, yet it seemed that nobody else besides him understood this.<p>

He, being Matthew Williams—underappreciated beauty of the north, born in Canada, raised in America with an over-bearing older brother, ultimate worshipper of anything and everything related to maple.

Right now, he's standing in front of **The Awesome House of Sweets**, inhaling the flavored air and reveling in the victory of convincing this owner to open a line of maple flavored treats. It's the only victory he's ever accomplished and the reward is ultimate.

Matthew stands at the door for a while, breathing in his achievement with a simple smile, before an excited rush of females parade into him, chattering without a hint of remorse as he's plowed into the snowbank below. The pumpkin crazed flock enters the sweets shop—no doubt for their daily dose of white girl fuel—with no concern for the poor boy trampled in the snow.

"Mondays," Matthew whispers. "I _dislike_ Mondays." However, he has no time to elaborate on his strong dislike(not hate, he could never hate) for this particular weekday, for his overly jovial friend Feliciano has witnessed the traumatic event and is now bouncing toward the entrance door from where he'd previously been painting inside.

"Mattie!" Feliciano gasps. He goes to tug up the small Canadian but his acrylic-stained fingers lose their grip and both fall. "Oops," Feli chirps. Matthew, however pleased with being noticed, does not quite enjoy the way Feliciano's faulty grip results in a wave of snow and ice-water reintroducing itself to his new pajamas-_the ones with maple leaves stamped all over!_

Feliciano huffs an apology as they scramble out of the snow and into the sweets shop, but at this point, Matthew's attention is better focused on the shelves and displays before them, along with the other people inside. The flock of girls doesn't notice when he drips over to stand next to them, or when he politely says hello.

(Or when he tells the heeled one that she walks with the majority of her weight on the left side, which probably isn't very good)

Feliciano hums away and goes back to his unfinished mural; a brightly colored caricature of what is probably a plate of cookies—cookies shaped like pumpkins and skeletons and colored accordingly. It's rather beautiful, but Matthew has come for his maple treats, not his friend's paintings.

Matthew shifts in place as he waits for someone to come tend to the beasts—girls, he means—and then thank maple, here comes Gilbert now to take their order.

The enthusiastic German owner gives his customers a quick once-over before grinning heartily—at least half the flock swoons. "What can the _awesome me_ get for you?" Matthew doesn't know what to be more shocked at; the fact that Gilbert has to ask what the flock wants, or that the girls actually have to think about it.

"Eight pumpkin spiced muffins," the Heeled One says, after a minute of heated thinking. Her flock nods and dips heads in agreement.

Matthew silently cheers in his head, he's successful in his guess, and then waits while the flock dissolves into the **Awesome House's** mini lounge. When the counter is clear he moves over, ready to see which new maple treat has been added for October, instead comes face-to-chest with a very handsome chest. Matthew considers his thoughts for a full second and a half, and then jerks away in embarrassment. "A-ah, sorry," he says quickly, "I didn't see you there…" how strange; to be the one to say that.

The chest's owner makes a deep grunt, but is otherwise silent. Matthew counts dust particles awkwardly for several seconds longer, and then takes the risk of looking up.

"_Maple…_"

The very handsome chest led to a very handsome chin to a very handsome nose to very gorgeous eyes and all of a sudden Matthew wonders if this man is the human equivalent of maple because there is no other reason for why he wants to just _eat him right up._

"Excuse me?" the angel tilts his head down to look at Matthew quizzically. Matthew feels his heart thrum louder, he doesn't know what to say now, surely if this man can hear his whispered words, he can hear the pounding of Matthew's heart. He opens his mouth to say something, anything would work, for once the silence _bothers_ him but Gilbert breaks it before Matthew can say a single syllable.

"Eight muffins, pumped to the brim with pumpkin spices and extra awesome, _eleven thirty four please."_

And it may just be his imagination, but those last four words sounded rather intense to Matthew, for a split second his mind shifts from the gorgeous stranger to the outrageous price of muffins these days.

Then the flock reassembles and manages to move _right between_ Matthew and his eye candy and the small Canadian briefly wonders if this is anger that he's feeling. Heeled One collects the muffins and the flock leaves, Matthew notices with a pang of disappointment that the stranger is gone too.

_But you didn't come here for a handsome guy,_ Inner Alfred reminds him. _You came here for maple pancakes._

"Maple pancakes," Matthew echoes. Gilbert jots it down, and then gives him the full cheeky grin that causes hearts to pound, cheeks to flush, knees go weak.

"Anything else, Birdie?" he taps his long pale fingers against the display glass to his right. "Feliciano made maple and chocolate biscuits earlier."

Matthew leans over to look at the biscuits—stops, rubs his foggy glasses clear, tries again—and considers. Most likely, Feliciano had made chocolate biscuits and then poured in maple syrup. It was something he'd done before, and while he'd quite enjoyed the taste, it was not what he was looking for.

"No, thank you," he says with a smile. Gilbert hesitates, and then collects his notepad and leaves to the kitchen. From behind him, Matthew can hear Feliciano singing to himself as he paints, can hear the soft crackle as the lounge's fire devours a log, can hear the faint howl of October wind outside.

Most obvious though is the loud _**doki doki**_ of his heart, and Matthew gives a quiet little sigh.

"Do you have some sort of fascination with maple flavored foods?"

The deep voice comes from directly behind him and _oh_ if Matthew's fascinated with anything at the moment, it's this enchanting stranger who hasn't left the **Awesome House** with the Pumpkin flock afterall.

"A- a little," Matthew stutters. he considers looking up and meeting the other's eyes, and then concludes that maybe this stranger isn't interested really in having a conversation with him, and was just commenting.

Somewhat hurtful, but he's used to being ignored so this acknowledgement, however tiny, was something to be thankful for.

Matthew pauses because for just a heartbeat; the air seems to fill with the promise of a response, but then the feeling dulls, so he turns on his heels and marches over to Feliciano.

The Italian nods his head as the other approaches but doesn't react otherwise. Matthew watches as the artist's hands trail over the painted wall, filling the seasonal outlines with color and meaning, and with life. Of course, he wonders why the skeletal cookies are such a fluorescent blue—aren't skeletons supposed to be white?—but the stunning detail that Feliciano has delivered to each swipe of the paintbrush makes the sky shaded frosted bones look incredibly delicious. Matthew feels his stomach shift at the sight, and silently prays that he can find the strength not to eat Feli's lifelike paintings while waiting for his pancakes.

Feliciano takes advantage of his dazed stare to flick caramel colored paint at him, eliciting a shocked gasp from Matthew as the cold ooze hits his chin and drips down his shirt. Instantly, he arches his body away from the chill. Feli giggles.

"It looks like maple _syrup!_" he squeals in delight, as if this simple fact is his life's goal. He offers Matthew a beam of joy when the other finally recovers from the initial shock and sends him a look.

Gilbert's snicker of amusement brings the Canadian's attention back to the counter, where his silver haired friend stands with a shiny plate piled with deep brown pancakes. Already, from across the room, Matthew can see the flavored syrup dousing the pancakes, already, he can smell the sweet scent of maple.

* * *

><p>It draws him like the smell of food draws a dog; nose up, sappy grin, lovestruck face. Gilbert hands him the plate and a pair of silver with a chuckle. It was one of his favourite parts of cooking for Matthew—the excited face he made on his way to the maple treats. His favourite part, though, was the blissful expression Matthew made with the first bite. It was always different, always enjoyable, always <em>adorable<em>.

And _clearly,_ he isn't the only one who thought so.

The customer in the red shirt blatantly stares at little Mattie as he collects his treat, very openly showing his interest. It almost unnerves Gilbert.

Almost.

He was too awesome for that, though.

"How can I help you?" he calls. Red Shirt looks up to him, looks at the counter full of displayed goodies, looks back at Matthew for a second.

"You have pancakes?" he finally asks. He tilts his head in Matthew's area, a brief message is sent-_he has some, I want some too_- and then he lumbers up to the counter to set a squinty glare at the sign listing flavors right behind Gilbert.

Gilbert opens his mouth to say that yes, he does have pancakes, but he realizes that it's less of a question and more of a statement and stays silent so that the guy can choose flavoring for his sweet of choice.

There's a long silence in the **Awesome House** as Red Shirt thinks, as Matthew savors, as Feliciano paints. Gilbert finds himself with the sudden need to get away and drums his fingertips against the counter impatiently.

Red Shirt looks like he's about to drag the awkward stillness out, from sheer pleasure of awkwardness, and then his beady little eyes (**oh Gil…**) find something that evidently shocks him. "Red Velvet pancakes?" he reads. "I want that."

Gilbert fixes his shiny new counter—courtesy of his uptight brother—with a hard stare. Of course, of _course_ he's going to go and order the one thing on the entire menu that was not already pre-made. Didn't this guy _know_ how long it took to make pancakes? Had he no respect for the time of awesome chefs such as himself?

"That will take a while," Gilbert says instead. "You can sit. Or something. While you wait…"

And he whirls back to the kitchen, with only the smallest of tears to show his sadness on not getting to watch little Mattie eat.

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><p>Matthew walks his plate of maple joy to a two-person table close by Feliciano, so he can watch the artist paint while he eats. The Italian wiggles his eyebrows when Matthew takes his first bite, but otherwise does nothing. This is a moment of euphoria for the other, and he is not one to judge another—no matter how intriguing said other's facial expression is.<p>

The syrup in the pancakes seems to slide right out of them and into his mouth even before he takes a bite, the rush of heated goodness like sweet melted gold is truly the most amazing way he's ever had maple before.

Matthew can't hold in the lengthy moan of pure bliss, nor the startled squeak of embarrassment when he hears it. all of a sudden, he's glad Gilbert's not there to tease him about the moan, all of a sudden he realizes that there is somebody in the **Awesome House** besides Feliciano who'd heard it. Matthew straightens up, pleading to the big polar bear up there that he hadn't just completely embarrassed himself in front of easily the best human being he's ever laid eyes on.

A loud snort tells him quietly that the universe doesn't want to listen, so Matthew turns his head to make sure that Feli hasn't just grown a mean bone and sees the red-shirted beauty with a palm over his mouth and his shoulders shaking slightly from laughter. The sight prompts a bewildered look, which the other happens to look up and see.

The stranger stops laughing, but drops his hand and reveals a smirk. "Good pancakes?" he says.

Matthew nods quickly to try and hide the way his cheeks are reacting to the smirk. Ten seconds later, it occurs to him that maybe normal people don't continue nodding for ten seconds, and when his embarrassment returns, he douses it with a healthy mouthful of pancake.

The stranger gives a low chuckle before turning around and sauntering over to Matthew's table, who in turn tries his very hardest not to let his jaw drop because _surely_ this man does not want to see what happens after he chews his food. A choked swallow and nervous smile later, Matthew is attempting to squeak out a simple _hello_, _sorry for making strange noises_ but then the stranger interrupts him with a not-as-simple _My name's Matt, yours?_

"mmm… Matthew?" he quickly attacks his pancakes again; maybe if he just stuffs his face he won't be able to make an even bigger fool out of himself, but the logical half of his brain quietly points out the flaw with that plan.

"So, are the pancakes really that good?" Matt repeats. Matthew considers extending his fork and letting the other try himself and gives that section of his mind a good slap.

"Yes… they're amazing," he finally says. Matt gives his plate an interested look, and Matthew tries to stir up enough courage to fork a bite's size and offer it to the other.

"I've never really had much experience with anything maple flavored," Matt tells him.

.

.

.

.

Well then.

.

.

.

.

"_Never?_" Matthew gasps. The thought, the very idea of never having tasted his beloved maple is terribly tragic. It's therefor completely justified when he slides his plate over to the other and hands him the fork. "Never!" he echoes. "How can I just let this happen? No, no I can't… have some of my pancakes!"

The force of his excited yell is enough to maybe startle the fly that's nosing its way around their heads, but the words ring in his head over and over again—_why has he said that? _

And yet Matt shrugs, takes a forkful of the offered pancakes and pops it in his mouth.

Matthew watches in disbelief as the Matt's smirk slips into a shocked gape, that lifts up to a smile that makes his heart _burn_.

"That is good," Matt says thoughtfully. He moves to take another bite and then Gilbert comes back, silver plate of deep crimson flat cakes in one hand. Matt pushes the platter of maple cakes back to Matthew and makes his way back to the counter to get his own.

As soon as Matt is occupied, Matthew snatches up his borrowed fork, pressing it to his lips gently, savoring in the indirect kiss. Then he goes back to eating, so as not to give Matt the idea that he was a creepy stalker who went around kissing forks.

The other man returns to the table with his stack of goods, and pushes it over to Matthew's side. "You let me have some of yours," he explains with a sly grin, "I'll let you have some of mine."

Matthew accepts the offering with a beam, silently wonders if this red velvet was to Matt as maple was to himself, and uses his own fork to cut a mouthful of the pancake free. "Oo_ohh_," is his mumbled response. "That… that's really yummy."

_Yummy enough to reduce his vocabulary to that of Alfred's._

Matt lets him take another forkful and then reaches out to take the plate back to try it himself. For several minutes, the two pass their plates back and forth and share the pancakes, eventually blooming into conversation.

It was more than Matthew could ever have imagined, that a random trip to the **Awesome House** would lead to him meeting a man as wonderful as Matt. He's lost in the daze of the content, maybe an hour after they've started talking, when Matt abruptly slides his chair back and stands up.

"It was nice to meet ya, Matthew, but I need to go now."

_Ah…_

"Of course, nice to meet you too," Matthew says with a smile. He stands up to say goodbye, hoping that maybe, _maybe_ something would happen and Matt would stay longer, but the other merely nods, carries his emptied plate back to the counter, and leaves.

Matthew is left with his own empty plate and the quiet rasp of Feliciano's still moving paintbrush, a weak replacement for the pleasant conversation from just a minute ago. He tries not to sigh, tries not to feel disappointed, bends over to pick up his dish so that he could return it and go home.

Stops.

Stares at the crumpled slip of paper left where Matt had been sitting.

Picks it up.

Reads it.

Grins.

Slips it into his pocket and picks up the plate, takes it to the counter.

Says goodbye to Feliciano and thanks Gilbert for the heavenly pancakes.

Steps outside and smiles all the way back to his home, feeling brilliantly dazed and in love.

_~We need to meet up again sometime. Feel free to come over to my place at any time, or leave a call._

_555-555-5567_

_Love, Matt~_

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><p><strong>Well then. That just happened.<strong>

**I hope this satisfies you Irwan c:**

**Criticism is welcomed and enjoyed. Feedback is loved.**

**THERE IS A CHANCE THAT A SEQUEL MAY HAPPEN. CLEARLY, THANKS TO MY WRITING HABITS IT WON'T HAPPEN THIS YEAR BUT HEY**

**BE WARNED**

**LOVE YOU GUYS**


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